Cherokee Stranger

Desperate to relax, she removed her boots, peeled off her socks and looked around.

The motel room was spotless, aside from the makeup bag she’d left on the vanity and a blue T-shirt peeking out of a toppled gray suitcase.

Would James stay the night? Would he shower in her tub? Would he—

A knock sounded, and Emily nearly flew off the bed. With a deep, shaky breath, she stood, smoothed her blouse and answered the summons.

James offered a smile, an expression that gentled his rawboned features and softened the dark, hollow haunting in his eyes.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” She stepped back and allowed him entrance into the room, her heart beating with a girlish flutter.

She locked the door, and he held up the brown paper bag in his hand. “I got ’em.”

Yes, of course, she thought. The protection. He was responsible enough to practice sex safe and experienced enough to sight the topic ahead of time. But the fact that he didn’t keep condoms in his wallet set her mind at ease.

Apparently James didn’t make a habit of one-nighters, of picking up women in bars.

“You still have your clothes on,” he said, his smile tilting one corner of his mouth.

Her pulse leaped like a lizard. “You expected me to be naked?”

He tossed the condoms on the nightstand. “A guy can hope.”

“I took off my boots,” she said, almost wincing at her own naiveté, her inability to say something provocative.

He glanced at her feet. “Then you’re one step ahead of me.” Without hesitation, he sat on the edge of the bed, yanked off his battered boots and placed his socks inside them. “Now we’re even.”

“You’re wearing a jacket,” she pointed out.

He shrugged out of the denim and tossed it aside. “Not anymore.”

Emily hadn’t expected him to initiate a game, to bait her into a striptease.

Nervous, she remained near the dresser, the unit that doubled as an entertainment center.

He pushed his hair off his forehead, where the thick, dark strands routinely fell. “Your turn, pretty lady.”

She didn’t feel pretty, not with the lights blaring, not with him watching every move she made. Would he think her breasts were too small? Her tummy too soft? “You go next.”

“That’s cheating.”

She moved a little closer, determined to relax, to let this happen on her terms. “My room. My rules.”

“You got me there.” He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his chest and the silver ring that pierced his left nipple.

Stunned, she stared at the shimmering ornament and noticed a black stone in the center.

“I did it a long time ago,” he said.

“You pierced it yourself?”

“It was sort of a spiritual thing.”

To Emily, it looked more sexual than spiritual, but she wasn’t about to say that. “Is it sensitive?”

He glanced up and grinned. “Want to come closer and find out?”

Yes, she thought. She did. She couldn’t believe how alluring he was. Or how incredibly dangerous he looked, half-naked on her bed, teasing her with a flirtatious smile.

He held out his hand, beckoning her. She stepped forward, and he pulled her onto the bed, kissing her hard and fast, pushing his tongue into her mouth.

Suddenly his hands were everywhere. She’d meant to turn out the bedside lamp, to ease into his arms, but he was too anxious, too hungry, too strong and muscular.

“Tell me what you like,” he whispered, licking the shell of her ear, opening the top of her blouse. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Heaven help her, but she didn’t know. She didn’t—

“I’ll do anything, Emily. Anything you want.”

She had to warn him to slow down, to give her a chance to catch up. She couldn’t give him directions, say the naughty things he expected to hear.

Scraping her nail across his chest, she paused at his left nipple, almost touching the captivating ring.

“I’m new at this,” she said.

He lifted his head. She was pinned beneath him, the weight of his body pressing her onto the bed.

“New at what?”

“Sex. Making love. This is my first time.”

His features went still, much too still. Then the scar across his eyebrow twitched. Emily held her breath. Her fingers brushed the piercing, grazing the magic stone in the center.

He pulled back, disconnecting her hand from his skin.

“We don’t have to stop, James.” She glanced at his zipper, saw that he was still aroused. “Do we?”

He frowned at her. Was he angry? Confused?

“How old are you?” he asked.

She bit her lip. She could still taste him, the hard, desperate tongue thrusts he’d given her. “Twenty-two.”

He gazed directly into her eyes, but his were troubled again, as haunted as a ghost-ridden night. “Why me? And why now?”

She didn’t know what to say, how to explain her decision, not without mentioning the cancer. And she wasn’t about to bring that up, to evoke pity, or God help her, revulsion from the man she wanted to make love with.